{"id":48,"date":"2026-08-27T14:21:38","date_gmt":"2026-08-27T14:21:38","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/horrorstories.online\/?p=48"},"modified":"2026-09-03T16:30:45","modified_gmt":"2026-09-03T16:30:45","slug":"chapter-1-wrong-house","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/horrorstories.online\/index.php\/2026\/08\/27\/chapter-1-wrong-house\/","title":{"rendered":"CHAPTER 1 &#8211; WRONG HOUSE"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<div style=\"max-width: 600px; margin: 30px auto 10px auto; padding: 0 15px;\">\n    <!-- Ti\u00eau \u0111\u1ec1 Audio -->\n    <div style=\"display: flex; align-items: center; margin-bottom: 15px;\">\n        <div style=\"margin-right: 15px; font-size: 20px; font-weight: bold; padding: 5px 0; color: #000;\">Listen to the Story<\/div>\n        <div style=\"flex: 1; height: 1px; background-color: #ccc;\"><\/div>\n    <\/div>\n\n    <!-- Khung Playlist Audio -->\n    <div style=\"background-color: #ffffff; border: 2px solid #ccc; padding: 15px; border-radius: 10px; box-shadow: 0 2px 5px rgba(0,0,0,0.05);\">\n        \n        <!-- Track 1 -->\n        <div style=\"padding: 10px 0; border-bottom: 1px solid #eee;\">\n            <div style=\"font-weight: bold; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; color: #333;\">\n                Part 1: I BROKE INTO A KILLER&#8217;S HOUSE <span style=\"font-size: 12px; color: #888; font-weight: normal; float: right;\">29:52<\/span>\n            <\/div>\n            <audio controls style=\"width: 100%; height: 36px;\">\n                <source src=\"https:\/\/horrorstories.online\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/Part-1-I-BROKE-INTO-A-KILLERS-HOUSE.mp3\" type=\"audio\/mpeg\">\n                Tr\u00ecnh duy\u1ec7t c\u1ee7a b\u1ea1n kh\u00f4ng h\u1ed7 tr\u1ee3 ph\u00e1t audio.\n            <\/audio>\n        <\/div>\n\n        <!-- Track 2 -->\n        <div style=\"padding: 10px 0; border-bottom: 1px solid #eee;\">\n            <div style=\"font-weight: bold; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; color: #333;\">\n                Part 2: I BROKE INTO A KILLER&#8217;S HOUSE <span style=\"font-size: 12px; color: #888; font-weight: normal; float: right;\">29:31<\/span>\n            <\/div>\n            <audio controls style=\"width: 100%; height: 36px;\">\n                <source src=\"https:\/\/horrorstories.online\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/Part-2-I-BROKE-INTO-A-KILLERS-HOUSE-1.mp3\" type=\"audio\/mpeg\">\n                Tr\u00ecnh duy\u1ec7t c\u1ee7a b\u1ea1n kh\u00f4ng h\u1ed7 tr\u1ee3 ph\u00e1t audio.\n            <\/audio>\n        <\/div>\n\n        <!-- Track 3 -->\n        <div style=\"padding: 10px 0; margin-bottom: 0;\">\n            <div style=\"font-weight: bold; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; color: #333;\">\n                Part 3: I BROKE INTO A KILLER&#8217;S HOUSE <span style=\"font-size: 12px; color: #888; font-weight: normal; float: right;\">29:08<\/span>\n            <\/div>\n            <audio controls style=\"width: 100%; height: 36px;\">\n                <source src=\"https:\/\/horrorstories.online\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/Part-3-I-BROKE-INTO-A-KILLERS-HOUSE-1.mp3\" type=\"audio\/mpeg\">\n                Tr\u00ecnh duy\u1ec7t c\u1ee7a b\u1ea1n kh\u00f4ng h\u1ed7 tr\u1ee3 ph\u00e1t audio.\n            <\/audio>\n        <\/div>\n\n    <\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n<!--QUELL ch\u00fac b\u1ea1n m\u1ed9t ng\u00e0y t\u1ed1t l\u00e0nh-->\n\n<div style=\"display: flex; justify-content: space-between; margin: 10px 0;\">\n  <div style=\"background: #e2e0e0; text-align: center; border-radius: 10px; font-size: 14px; padding: 10px; display: inline-block\">\n    <span style=\"color: white\">\u2190 Previous Chapter<\/span>\n  <\/div>\n  <a href=\"https:\/\/horrorstories.online\/index.php\/2026\/08\/27\/chapter-2-under-the-couch\/\" style=\"text-decoration: none\">\n    <div style=\"background: linear-gradient(to right, #000000, #000000); text-align: center; border-radius: 10px; font-size: 14px; padding: 10px; display: inline-block\">\n      <span style=\"color: white\">Next chapter \u2192<\/span>\n    <\/div>\n  <\/a>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-word; line-height: 1.6; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;\">\n  <p>I\u2019m a burglar. And if I could go back one hour, I\u2019d stay at least three blocks away from that house. Not because the locks were good. Not because of the cameras. Not because the owner came home early. Because what I found in the wall safe wasn\u2019t cash. It was a human head.<\/p>\n  <p>The safe was old, recessed behind a landscape painting in a third-floor office. It took me just under ten minutes to open. For most people, it would\u2019ve been secure enough. For me, it was an inconvenience. The lock gave a soft click.<\/p>\n  <p>Usually, that sound means money. Watches. Jewelry. Documents somebody thinks are worth hiding. I pulled the door open and got hit by the smell.<\/p>\n  <p>I jerked backward hard enough to knock my flashlight against the desk. The beam jumped, skittered across the inside of the safe, and landed on a face. I froze.<\/p>\n  <p>The head had been shoved sideways into a clear plastic bag that wasn\u2019t fully sealed. The skin had gone gray-green along the cheeks. One side of the mouth had drawn back enough to show teeth. The hair was pasted dark against the forehead. The eyes were still open.<\/p>\n  <p>My hand shook. Two spots of reflected light trembled in those eyes, and for half a second it looked as if they were following me.<\/p>\n  <p>\u201cFuck.\u201d<\/p>\n  <p>I covered my mouth the instant the word escaped. Nothing moved. No dead man sat up. No supernatural nonsense. Just decomposition in a sealed room and a smell that seemed to thicken every second I stood there.<\/p>\n  <p>I\u2019ve been doing this a long time. I\u2019ve opened closets and found guns. Desk drawers full of pills. Once, a whole wall covered in photos of strangers taken through bedroom windows. I have a rule: if it isn\u2019t what you came for, don\u2019t get curious. A human head in a safe qualified as an exception.<\/p>\n  <p>I shut the door. Click.<\/p>\n  <p>That one didn\u2019t sound nearly as satisfying. Whatever else was in the house, I no longer cared. No amount of cash was worth another minute inside. I packed my tools, killed the light, and headed downstairs.<\/p>\n  <p>The place was a three-story house at the edge of an expensive development, set far enough back from the road that the neighboring homes looked like distant shapes through the trees. I\u2019d watched it for two days. No lights at night. The SUV in the garage had been gone since Monday. Curtains on the second floor never moved. Every sign said empty. Every sign except the head.<\/p>\n  <p>I had just reached the living room when I heard metal turn in the front door. I stopped. One beat. Two. The dead bolt slid back. Click.<\/p>\n  <p>My stomach dropped. No time to get upstairs. No back exit close enough. I pocketed the flashlight and scanned the room. A long couch sat in the middle of the living room. I hit the floor and slid underneath it. The clearance was so low my chest nearly touched the hardwood.<\/p>\n  <p>The front door opened. Hall light stretched across the floor in a long yellow stripe. I held my breath. Black heels came in first. Then gray sneakers. Then dark leather boots. Three people.<\/p>\n  <p>The door closed. Click. The living-room lights came on.<\/p>\n  <p>From where I was, the world ended at their ankles. Heels. Sneakers. Boots. I breathed slowly through my nose. All they had to do was go upstairs. Five minutes, maybe ten. I\u2019d once spent forty-five minutes inside a closet because a homeowner came back for a passport. Waiting was part of the job. This wasn\u2019t different.<\/p>\n  <p>That\u2019s what I told myself until I saw my tool bag. It was sitting beside the couch. Outside my hiding place. I\u2019d dropped it when I dove for cover. All one of them had to do was look down. I closed my eyes for a second. Idiot.<\/p>\n  <p>They didn\u2019t go upstairs. The heels crossed the room toward me. The cushion above my head sank as the woman sat down. The other two took the couch opposite her.<\/p>\n  <p>\u201cNice place,\u201d one of the men said. His voice was wrong \u2013 metallic, roughened, distorted through some cheap electronic filter.<\/p>\n  <p>The second man laughed. His voice had the same synthetic edge. \u201cDon\u2019t get attached. It\u2019s not mine.\u201d<\/p>\n  <p>\u201cWhere\u2019s the owner?\u201d<\/p>\n  <p>A pause. Then the man in boots said, \u201cHe\u2019s not coming back.\u201d<\/p>\n  <p>The skin at the back of my neck tightened. I pictured the safe upstairs. The plastic bag. The open eyes. I didn\u2019t know if the two things were connected. I had no intention of staying long enough to find out.<\/p>\n  <p>I slowly reached for the strap of my tool bag. It was maybe eighteen inches away. If I could drag it under the couch, at least I wouldn\u2019t leave proof that somebody else had been in the house. My fingers touched the strap. The woman shifted above me. The couch frame trembled. My hand bumped one of the wooden legs. Knock.<\/p>\n  <p>The room went silent.<\/p>\n  <p>\u201cWhat was that?\u201d<\/p>\n  <p>The gray sneakers turned toward me. \u201cI heard something.\u201d<\/p>\n  <p>The woman above my head didn\u2019t move. I held my breath until my ribs hurt.<\/p>\n  <p>\u201cOld house,\u201d Boots said. \u201cA place like this?\u201d<\/p>\n  <p>\u201cCheck if you want.\u201d<\/p>\n  <p>The man in sneakers stood. His shoes came toward me. One step. Then another. I slid a hand into my bag and found the handle of a small hammer. I knew better than to think I could fight three people. I\u2019m short, lean, narrow through the shoulders. My profession is built around entering empty places and leaving before anyone knows I was there. If a burglary becomes a fight, the burglary has already failed.<\/p>\n  <p>The sneakers stopped less than two feet from my face. There was dried mud along the edge of one sole. He stood there for several seconds. Then turned away.<\/p>\n  <p>\u201cProbably a mouse.\u201d<\/p>\n  <p>I didn\u2019t know which imaginary mouse to thank. He sat again. Air leaked out of my lungs.<\/p>\n  <p>The woman spoke. \u201cWe starting?\u201d<\/p>\n  <p>\u201cLet\u2019s start.\u201d Boots tapped a finger against the coffee table. Once. \u201cLast month. Riverview Towers.\u201d<\/p>\n  <p>My eyes opened wider. That name I knew.<\/p>\n  <p>\u201cUnit 304?\u201d the woman asked.<\/p>\n  <p>\u201cYeah.\u201d The sneakers shifted, like the man wearing them was smiling. \u201cYou really want to hear it?\u201d<\/p>\n  <p>\u201cWe\u2019re already here,\u201d Boots said. \u201cStop performing.\u201d<\/p>\n  <p>A brief silence. Then the filtered voice from the opposite couch dropped lower. \u201cThe woman\u2019s name was Lena Tran.\u201d<\/p>\n  <p>My heart missed a beat. I stayed perfectly still. Not because I was afraid they\u2019d hear me. Because I knew that name.<\/p>\n  <p>A little over a month earlier, the death at Riverview Towers had been all over the local news. A woman found dead inside her condo. Her body moved onto the balcony. Two degrading words written in red across the sliding glass door. No arrest. I knew more than the news had ever reported.<\/p>\n  <p>Sneakers went on. \u201cI got inside a little after ten. She was in the shower. I used a cord. Water all over the floor. She fought for a while. Then she didn\u2019t.\u201d He described dragging her onto the balcony and writing on the glass.<\/p>\n  <p>Boots interrupted now and then with a question. The woman above me barely spoke.<\/p>\n  <p>I listened. The longer he talked, the stranger it felt. Not fear exactly. More like hearing someone describe a room you\u2019d once stood in while putting the furniture in the wrong places. Some details were right. Some were things anyone could have learned from the news. And some were wrong.<\/p>\n  <p>\u201cThe words on the glass,\u201d Boots said suddenly. \u201cYou used blood?\u201d<\/p>\n  <p>The sneakers shifted. \u201cYeah.\u201d<\/p>\n  <p>\u201cHers?\u201d<\/p>\n  <p>\u201cWhose else?\u201d<\/p>\n  <p>Boots said nothing. My fingers tightened around the hammer.<\/p>\n  <p>Wrong. Those words hadn\u2019t been written in blood. I knew that. But I couldn\u2019t know that. Not in any way an ordinary person should.<\/p>\n  <p>I looked toward the black heels. Since the name Lena Tran first came up, the woman\u2019s left foot had barely moved. Now the toe started trembling. Once. Then again. She was shaking.<\/p>\n  <p>Sneakers kept talking. \u201cShe had it coming. Married, but still-\u201d<\/p>\n  <p>The woman\u2019s heel struck the floor. Knock.<\/p>\n  <p>He stopped. \u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n  <p>\u201cNothing.\u201d Her filtered voice sounded cold. Her foot kept shaking.<\/p>\n  <p>And I finally understood one thing. These weren\u2019t three people who happened to come home at the same time. They knew one another \u2013 or at least the names they used online. They were discussing murder the way other people discussed hunting stories. A dark-web board. A private meetup. A house with a severed head in the safe. I hadn\u2019t broken into the wrong rich man\u2019s house. I\u2019d broken into a meeting of killers.<\/p>\n  <p>I let go of the hammer. What I needed wasn\u2019t a weapon. It was a way out.<\/p>\n  <p>Right then, the woman\u2019s foot shifted. Something white slid across the hardwood. A small piece of paper. It stopped beside my hand.<\/p>\n  <p>I looked at the heels. No reaction.<\/p>\n  <p>I waited several seconds, then pulled the note underneath the couch. One line in tiny black handwriting: *IF YOU WANT TO LIVE, GO TO THE BATHROOM BY THE STAIRS WHEN YOU GET THE CHANCE.*<\/p>\n  <p>My blood went cold. I read it twice.<\/p>\n  <p>The woman sitting above me knew I was here. I stared through the dark gap beneath the couch. Her heels never turned toward me. She sat as if nothing had happened.<\/p>\n  <p>I closed my hand around the note. One question replaced another. If she wanted to save me, why would a killer help a burglar? And if she didn\u2019t want to save me \u2013 what was waiting in that bathroom?<\/p>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"display: flex; justify-content: space-between; margin: 10px 0;\">\n  <div style=\"background: #e2e0e0; text-align: center; border-radius: 10px; font-size: 14px; padding: 10px; display: inline-block\">\n    <span style=\"color: white\">\u2190 Previous Chapter<\/span>\n  <\/div>\n  <a href=\"https:\/\/horrorstories.online\/index.php\/2026\/08\/27\/chapter-2-under-the-couch\/\" style=\"text-decoration: none\">\n    <div style=\"background: linear-gradient(to right, #000000, #000000); text-align: center; border-radius: 10px; font-size: 14px; padding: 10px; display: inline-block\">\n      <span style=\"color: white\">Next chapter \u2192<\/span>\n    <\/div>\n  <\/a>\n<\/div>\n\n\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Listen to the Story Part 1: I BROKE INTO A KILLER&#8217;S HOUSE 29:52 Tr\u00ecnh duy\u1ec7t c\u1ee7a b\u1ea1n kh\u00f4ng h\u1ed7 tr\u1ee3 ph\u00e1t audio. Part 2: I BROKE INTO A KILLER&#8217;S HOUSE 29:31 Tr\u00ecnh duy\u1ec7t c\u1ee7a b\u1ea1n kh\u00f4ng h\u1ed7 tr\u1ee3 ph\u00e1t audio. Part 3: I BROKE INTO A KILLER&#8217;S HOUSE 29:08 Tr\u00ecnh duy\u1ec7t c\u1ee7a b\u1ea1n kh\u00f4ng h\u1ed7 <a href=\"https:\/\/horrorstories.online\/index.php\/2026\/08\/27\/chapter-1-wrong-house\/\" class=\"more-link\">Read More<span class=\"screen-reader-text\"> &#8220;CHAPTER 1 &#8211; WRONG HOUSE&#8221;<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":50,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[15],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-48","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-https-horrorstories-online-index-php-2026-08-27-i-broke-into-a-killers-house-2"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/horrorstories.online\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/48","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/horrorstories.online\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/horrorstories.online\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/horrorstories.online\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/horrorstories.online\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=48"}],"version-history":[{"count":6,"href":"https:\/\/horrorstories.online\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/48\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":308,"href":"https:\/\/horrorstories.online\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/48\/revisions\/308"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/horrorstories.online\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/50"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/horrorstories.online\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=48"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/horrorstories.online\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=48"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/horrorstories.online\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=48"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}